Hogwarts, a Mystery
by F-Ayodele
Summary: Harry Potter walks into Dumbledore's office expecting punishment, but instead finds himself in someone else's nostalgia.
1. Chapter 1

**Hogwarts, a Mystery: Chapter 1**

**Dolores Umbridge**

"Oh, Merlin," muttered Harry, as he made his way up to Dumbledore's office. He looked down at his burned hands, and felt a rush of anger towards Professor Snape, the Potion's Master.

"Cockroach Clusters," Harry said, once he reached The Headmaster's office. The gargoyle leapt aside and Harry stepped onto the upward moving staircase.

Dumbledore's office hadn't changed since the last time he'd been there…last year, to discuss a dream he had had about Arthur Weasley, his best friend's father. Harry shuddered as he remembered. He stepped deeper into the office and discovered that his Headmaster wasn't there, and that all the portraits on the wall started chatting excitedly once he walked in.

The first thing he noticed was the Pensieve.

It was sitting right there, out in the open, swirling ominously on Dumbledore's desk. Harry felt a jolt of temptation, and found himself moving closer to the bowl. Dumbledore wouldn't mind if he had a look, would he?

Before he could answer his own question, he was in a swirling world of color.

It was fast however, and he was snapped out of his confusion when his feet hit a cold, stone floor and his knees buckled. He hadn't remembered it being so painful. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at an arched ceiling, and when he sat up, found himself in a familiar spot. He was outside the Room of Requirement.

A tall, slender girl was walking down the hallway towards him. She had black hair that was pinned up in a bun, and her wand was in her left hand, which was helping her right carry the books she was holding to her chest. Her face was screwed up in anger, and Harry nearly ran away when he recognized the girl.

She was Dolores Umbridge.

Once he recognized her, he mentally kicked himself for not noticing the similarities before. She had the same toad-like face, only _this _Umbridge was slimmer.

Young Dolores Umbridge paced in front of the entrance of the Room of Requirement. Harry heard her muttering, "_I need a place where everything has a place. I need order_." Over and over again to herself, before the magic door appeared, as wide as it was tall.

The room was just as Harry thought it would be; a replica of the Hogwarts library, only with one table in the center of the room, and much less people inside. The books were strange, too…most seemed to be dictionaries and old newspapers.

Dolores dumped her books on the table, her wand still in hand. "How dare they!" she shrieked suddenly, making Harry jump. "The rules of Hogwarts strictly state…" she laughed quietly to herself before continuing. "Look at me, expecting those _imbeciles_" she shot a hex in Harry's direction, and it went right through him and hit the wall. "to listen to the rules. Stupid Gryffindors. They think that the law is below them…" she pointed her wand to her left, but instead of hexing something, an old book zoomed into her hands. _Hogwarts, a History._

She cracked it open and pored into its pages, like Harry had seen Hermione do. She was reading quietly to herself, so that Harry had to step closer to hear.

"_Until the early 1800's, Hogwarts used methods that were common in that time to punish students. Some of these methods included locking them in a dungeon, throwing them in a pit with hungry hippogriffs, or having them duel to the death with another rule-breaking student. These methods were banned, however, when Achilles Cunningham became Minister of Magic._" She quietly cursed Achilles Cunningham. "When I'm Minister of Magic, I'll bring those methods back," she vowed darkly. "Who was he, anyway? To take away such…brilliant ways to deal with naughty students?" When she spoke, she spoke as if she were admiring a piece of art. Her face went red with emotion, and her eyes were filled with ambition. "It's just a matter of time," she whispered.

Just then, Harry saw the Room of Requirement lurch forward and collapse in front of him, as he and the contents of the Pensieve swirled once again. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself face to face with a blonde, curly haired youth.

_A/N – Reviews are always good! I hope you enjoyed my fic!_


	2. Rita Skeeter

**Hogwarts, a Mystery: Chapter 2**

**Rita Skeeter**

The girl looked bored…_annoyed_ even, staring back into Harry's eyes. He knew that she couldn't see him, but he couldn't help himself from feeling a bit uncomfortable and moving himself from her gaze. She had pink, sharp-edged glasses that nearly slid off her nose, and she was wearing bright red lipstick that matched her bright red robes. Harry knew _exactly _who she was, although she looked very different now, bored and apathetic, compared to her usual bright disposition.

"_Rita!_" snapped a middle-aged, red-haired woman in the front of the room. "Pay _attention!_"

Harry suddenly realized the other kids in the room, all paying rapt attention. "Yes, ma'am," Rita nodded bringing Harry's attention back to her, her face still balancing on her palm. "Sorry, ma'am."

"Your apathy towards my lesson is insulting, Miss Skeeter!" the lady continued in the same, high-pitched, shrill tone. "Do you know who I am?"

Rita rolled her eyes. "Oh, no, it seems I've forgotten," she said, her voice dripping with acid. "Would you mind reminding me?"

The lady didn't seem to notice the sarcasm. "I am Isabella Jacobsen, the best writer on the _Daily Prophet_ staff! Do you think I got where I am today – rich and beautiful, and patient enough to teach children – by lazing around in class?"

Rita suddenly jolted awake. "I am _not _lazy." She said indignantly. "Just because I don't want to hear you droning on and on about stuff you don't even know does not mean I am lazy."

Isabella narrowed her eyes. "'_Stuff I don't even know',_ Miss Skeeter? May I remind you that I traveled around the world for an entire year so that I may come here and share with you my knowledge about charms and their origins? Or has that slipped your mind?"

Rita snorted. "Hardly. You point it out every twenty-four hours. And I know, and you know as well, that you would rather be writing more lies in the Daily Prophet than teaching us!" She slammed her hand down on the table.

"_Lies?!" _gasped Isabella.

"Yes, yes lies!" Rita went on. "And yet you won't print the story about the Conspiracy-"

"Conspiracy?!" laughed Isabella madly. "Who told you about any Conspiracy?"

"My father did, would you like to question him?" Rita snapped, and Isabella fell silent. Harry didn't know who Rita's father was, but whoever he was, he was obviously very important.

Isabella's face was pale and void of any color. "Class dismissed." She said quietly. "Except for you," she said, grabbing the back of Rita's robes. She waited until the class had emptied before grabbing Rita's shoulders.

"How did your father find out about the Conspiracy?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"I dunno, why don't you ask him? You sleep with him on the weekends, don't you?" Rita snapped.

"I'm going to ask you again," Isabella said. Harry could tell her patience was waning. "How did your father find out about the Conspiracy?"

Rita grinned. "He didn't."

"What do you mean, 'he didn't'?" Isabella growled.

"It was a lucky guess. A bluff. And you fell for it."

It was obvious the Professor couldn't stop herself from smiling. "Brilliant." She said.

"Erm…Professor? You're hurting my shoulders."

"Rita, that was brilliant." She said again.

Rita looked confused and slightly scared. "What do you-"

Isabella Jacobsen released her hold on Rita's shoulders, and hurried over to her desk. She pulled out an acid green quill. She held it up to the light.

"This is my quill. I'm giving it to you." Rita reluctantly took the quill. "Try it out," her Professor urged, a smile on her face.

Rita took a piece of parchment off Isabella's desk. "It doesn't write," she said, slightly disappointed after attempting to draw a straight line on the parchment. She had expected something exciting to happen.

"You have to suck on it," Isabella said. Rita snickered, but Isabella ignored her. "Go on, then." Hesitant, Rita sucked on the edge of the pen and set on the parchment. She tried to draw a line with it, but it wouldn't move this time, and it stood quivering on its tip. "Say something," her professor ordered.

"Erm… Rita Skeeter."

And the quill began to write.

'_Rita Skeeter: a smart yet naïve fourteen year old girl stares wide-eyed at the parchment, her shocking blue eyes-'_

"My eyes are green," said Rita. "And I'm thirteen years old."

'…_following every line, and her mind exploding with the possibilities.'_

The quill stopped, marking the end of the sentence with a whoosh of its overly-large feather.

"Well, there it is. And its yours." Said Professor Jacobsen.

"What makes you think I want it?" said Rita, although it was pretty obvious she did.

"Oh, you do. Did I ever tell you that you remind me of myself when I was little?"

"I am not little!" Rita said indignantly.

"Ah, there's the vivacious side. Go on, then. Take the quill."

"Don't you need this?" Rita asked, gaping up at her.

"No, no sweetie, I'm retiring. Your father promised me a villa in Scotland."

Harry found himself spinning uncontrollably again, and just when he thought he might get sick from all the spontaneous spinning, his feet touched solid ground and he breathed in fresh, cold air.

He opened his eyes and found himself outside an orphanage.


End file.
